Happy Days!

Three decades at music festivals

I’m not a person to rush into new things, but I’m easily led into them by more intrepid souls.

It was the beginning of the Nineties, and I was already in my late twenties, when my friend Nikki introduced me to music festivals. I was a shy young editor: a single, bookish, southern English fish-out-of-water in northern, family-oriented, no-nonsense Wigan.

Her programme of education for me was eclectic, including the Llangollen Jazz Festival and the London Fleadh in Finsbury Park.

We drove down to London in her battered old car, parked in one of the terrace-lined side streets and joined the stream of pedestrians heading in the direction of the music.

The Fleadh was a beery, cheery, Irish-dominated revelation. A tide of happy people washed from one musical experience to another, surging to the beat of the music, breaking on the shores of the front-of-stage barriers, eddying around the beer tent. It was a day of being carefree, gregarious, entranced by music and humanity. One glorious, euphoric day!

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Breaking Through

Finally getting that first novel(la) down

As I mentioned in last week’s post, ‘An Odd Sort of a Job’, I write fiction as part of my work as an educational writer. It’s mostly basic stuff: little stories and dialogues, as a vehicle for teaching English or German.

It follows that I’m not inhibited about sharing my creative writing or getting short imaginative pieces published. Still, writing a novel, a novella or even a substantial short story is, as they say, a different kettle of fish.

Over the years, I’ve had a few goes at writing a novel, and I don’t think any of them have got past a single chapter. Probably just as well: they would have been desperately dull.

You see, I was following the standard advice about planning a novel. You’ve read the kind of thing:

First, decide what story you want to tell. Next, envisage your reader … Write a short synopsis / cover blurb … List your major and minor characters … Do background research … Structure your story … Write a chapter plan … etc etc etc

That might work for some writers, but it sure as hell wasn’t working for me.

Here’s my alternative recipe. It seems to be working out (early days!) – maybe you’ll find it helpful too?

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An Odd Sort of a Job

Reflections on a quasi-literary livelihood

Often when I write an answer on Quora, it’s out of irritation. I’m a sucker for a trollish question. Usually, I end up wondering ‘Why, Steve? Why??’ as my impassioned answer languishes in a dusty corner of Quora with 0 upvotes.

More rarely, Quora can be a lot of fun. Just often enough to keep me hooked.

Thus I enjoyed answering ‘By describing it badly, what is your job?’ a while back:

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When Elsie Met Percy

An Interwar Love Story

‘Elsie and Percy’

One family member I was close to, particularly as a troubled teenager (is there any other kind?) was my paternal grandmother, Elsie May Fendt, née Bent, known to me as Nan.

Elsie was an interesting, intelligent woman. She had led a somewhat colourful life in interwar London. She often used to tell me of her exploits with my grandfather Percy, whom I never got to meet, as he died of cancer in the late 1950s.

Percy was a solicitor’s clerk, a short, dapper, dark-haired, barrel-chested man and well … a very naughty boy, to put the most favourable slant on it.

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Steve’s stories on Medium, May–June

It has been another busy couple of months for me on Medium. I’m continuing to learn a lot, engaging with other writers, exploring links with publications and pushing my creative writing in different directions. Here’s a little glimpse of what I’ve been up to.

Music

Music has been a big part of my life for the last six years. It has been a wild and bumpy ride – and not just for me.

Pickin’ on the Porch

‘Pickin’ on the Porch’ © Steve Fendt 2021

The cheerfully unrepentant confessions of a neighbourhood nuisance. So sorry, neighbours! (Not sorry!)

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Shaking the Family Tree


(to see who falls out)

I’ve never been a particularly family-oriented person. Don’t get me wrong: I love my family and think of them affectionately. However, I was taught to be independent and self-reliant as a child, and well, I took the lesson to heart.

Dad later apologised to my newly-wed wife for that. The seed of independence was sown in fertile ground, Dad. Don’t give yourself too much credit.

So … it was a bit of a surprise to everyone, including myself, when I embarked on extensive family research on Ancestry several years ago. Probably Dad’s sudden death in 2010 prompted it. I realised that my family, particularly its senior members, wasn’t going to be around for ever, and that there was a lot that I wanted to know.

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Steve’s latest stories on Medium

I’m going to post periodic digests here with links to some of my latest stories on Medium.

Creativity

I’ve always been creative in one way or another. In my late 20s, my main creative outlet was as an amateur artist and sculptor. It was fun to look back on that time in these two articles:

Bare Paper

Here I write about the life drawing classes I used to attend, with many examples of my work.

‘Julia in Bed’
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Making Sense of Medium

A Medium Noob’s First Faltering Steps

Some background

Writing for fun may seem a ‘busman’s holiday’ for a professional writer. In fact, I’m finding it refreshing – and educational. Which may be ironic, as I’m an educational writer.

In my ‘day job’, I write English coursebooks for 14–19-year-old Austrians and Germans. These are bright kids, interested in the world, and creating content for them gives me occasional scope for literary self-expression. More often it allows me to explore ideas in an essayistic (if that’s even a word) or journalistic manner.

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How we chose our boat

In England, I was a keen dinghy sailer who raced every Sunday with my local club and spent a few weeks every year chartering yachts or sailing as crew. Moving to Australia presented my wife and me with the opportunity to buy a small yacht of our own.

The downside was that I had to sell my beloved Wayfarer and Supernova dinghies. However, the prospect of owning a yacht more than compensated for that. In the UK, even a small yacht – and a marina pen in which to keep it – was beyond our modest means.

I think I actually said, ‘I’m only moving to Australia if we can buy a yacht.’ I was only half-joking.

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